Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises

by Cliff Roberts

  Alone in his office, a large glass of Jack Daniels sitting within easy reach, the general spent the next two hours staring at his retirement papers strewn across his desk. He wondered if he had a better chance to change the current mindset of the Washington crowd by staying or going, or if he didn’t stand a chance no matter what he chose. He doubted that his retirement would be considered a setback by the administration. In fact, they’d probably throw a party.

  This administration didn’t hold the military in very high esteem. In fact, they treated the military worse than the Clinton administration had. As soon as they had taken office, they started hamstringing the military in the fight on terror. They cut funding for dozens of projects and weapon platforms. They even went so far as to denounce the famous quote from President George W. Bush’s 9/11 proclamation, stating that “Osama Bin Laden was wanted dead or alive.” They even offered to meet with Al-Qaeda representatives to lower worldwide tensions, instead. What bullshit! What total bullshit!

  His was a lone voice in the wilderness. How had that happened so fast? How could the public be so foolish, to have voted for these people? As long as the American public continues to accept the continual lies fed to them by the political hacks in Washington, his voice would be that of a washed up old warmonger, written off as being someone unable to change with the times.

  If he didn’t retire on his own, how long would it be before the Starks asked for his resignation? It had to be coming. Hell, the guy had made it clear when he first took office that he wanted to bring in new blood to all of the major advisory positions. He’d already changed the directors at all but the Joint Chiefs and DOJ within his first five months in office.

  The media hailed him for it, citing his willingness to get right to work addressing the multiple issues left over by the previous administration, which included a half trillion dollar budget deficit. This administration had actually increased the deficit to thirty-one trillion in less than two years. It was a story never reported by the mainstream media. Only the cable news outlets reported the growing deficit, which the administration claimed were rumors spread by glorified bloggers that were unable to get any of their facts right.

  The deficit increase was blamed on the two-front war in Afghanistan and Iraq that had been raging for more than fifteen years. It didn’t help that every new administration had changed the goals and tactics of the war, creating a seesaw effect of winning, then losing, then standing pat, and now losing again. Yeah, the handwriting on the wall was as clear as glass. It was time to go.

  The general leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He clenched his hands behind his head and did his best to relax. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he became aware of someone standing in his office. Opening his eyes he saw his secretary, Captain Carrie Rutland, a fine figure of a woman, standing before him. She was five feet ten inches tall, with reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile so charming she should have to have a license to use it. When she did use that smile, any male to whom it was directed didn’t stand a chance. She wasn’t wearing a smile at the moment, but rather a pained expression.

  “What are you doing here, Captain?” the general asked, knowing she was off for the holiday weekend and it was only Friday, not to mention that it was almost seven p.m.

  “I came here looking for you, sir. No one has been able to reach you by phone, and it’s important that you talk to your son. I was contacted at home by the duty officer, so I decided to check in on you myself, sir.” She then showed off that smile—just a little—and Chip couldn’t help but smile back.

  As he reached for his cell phone he stated, “Why didn’t you just call me on my cell phone? I have it on 24/7, Captain. You didn’t need to take time away from your holiday to find me. I’m here as always.”

  “I tried, sir, but you didn’t answer,” she stated shyly.

  “Well, it didn’t ring. Are you sure you have the right number? I did change phones a few weeks ago,” the general stated in a patronizing tone as he looked closely at his phone. He then looked up sheepishly and apologized.

  “I’m sorry, Captain. I had no right to admonish you. I had the phone turned off. I don’t remember turning it off, but there you are. It’s off. Now, who did you say wanted to talk with me?”

  “Your son, sir. He asked that you call as soon as you can. He seemed frantic, actually, sir,” she stated apprehensively.

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like David at all, Captain. I’m sure that you misinterpreted his intent. But I appreciate your dedication to your job and to me by making the trip in to find me. I’ll give him a call. Thank you,” the general said as he took a large gulp of his Jack Daniels.

  Captain Rutland turned and exited the room as the general dialed his phone. She stopped and waited by her desk. She had a feeling she’d be needed in a few minutes. She hadn’t misinterpreted his son. Something was very wrong, though she didn’t know what. It took only three rings and the general heard his son say in a subdued voice, “Hello?” His voice was vacant and hollow. It took only another minute before Chip’s bad day took a turn for the ultimate worst. After another minute, he threw his cell phone against the far wall of his office where it shattered and crashed in pieces on the floor.

  In response to the loud crash in the general’s office, Captain Rutland quickly opened the door. Chip was sitting at his desk with his face in his hands. She heard a faint sob.

  “What’s wrong, sir?” she asked softly.

  ******

  At the same moment in South Texas, Yousef and his men were arriving at the safe house on South Padre Island after having driven around for the entire day. They had stopped only to get food, fuel and to use the restroom twice.

  Yousef was disappointed but not disheartened that none of his other men met them at the rendezvous point southeast of San Antonio where they exchanged vehicles with a pre-positioned one. Only five of the twelve cell members had survived. Inshallah! It was God’s will!

  They swapped the booby-trapped van for an old Buick Park Avenue at the rendezvous. Twenty minutes later, the van burst into flames leaving only a burned out shell and little or no evidence behind. To the casual eye, they now appeared to be a bunch of migrants packed in a car heading either to or from work. Once darkness fell, they drove quickly to the causeway leading to South Padre Island and crossed over, heading directly to the safe house at the south end of the island. They’d spend the night at a house, owned by a Pakistani doctor from Austin, who was sympathetic to their cause. Not one of the neighbors noticed their arrival.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  After eating a hearty meal and catching several hours of sleep in comfortable beds, the men gathered everything they had touched or used, placing it all in plastic bags to be taken with them. Then, they wiped the house down for fingerprints.

  Before first light they quietly said morning prayers, then took their trash and made their way to the boat docked behind the house. The boat was a thirty-two foot cabin cruiser, outfitted with the latest electronics including GPS, shortwave radio, radar, outriggers and fish finding equipment. If any of the neighbors happened to be in residence and happened to look out their window at six a.m., the group would appear to be just another group of weekend fishermen heading out for a day of fun on the water.

  Yousef and his men did their best to blend in with the other weekend fishermen by following them, though not too closely, as they headed eastward towards the main fishing grounds. There were several dozen manmade reefs anywhere from ten to thirty miles off the coast according to the charts Yousef had studied. The destination for the majority of the boats were those artificial reefs. The local conservation groups, in league with the government, had created them by sinking buses, cars and even old ships in an effort to promote more tourism through better fish habitats. While one boat after another dropped its lines and began trolling, Yousef and his men kept right on cruising east.

  After two and half hours, with the fishing areas and the other boater�
�s miles behind them, Yousef and his men were virtually alone at sea, not having seen anyone in over an hour.

  Late in the afternoon, the on-board GPS showed them closing in on the designated rendezvous coordinates a hundred and forty miles from shore. At the coordinates, they would meet with a cargo ship that was to take them out of the Gulf of Mexico to Cuba.

  As they neared the coordinates, the boat’s radar detected a ship at the far edge of its range to the north—the direction their ride was to arrive from. Yousef had his men set their sea anchor, and they began the two hour wait for the ship to arrive.

  The ship they were supposed to meet was a Cuban freighter, The People’s Glory, and it would take them to Cuba where everyone except Yousef would rest a while before taking other ships to their final destinations. Yousef would leave the next day moving on to his next assignment.

  As they waited, their nerves grew taught. There was no way of knowing if the ship approaching them was the ship they were expecting. They just had to be patient, hoping that it was the ship they were waiting for and not an unexpected surprise like the U.S. Coast Guard.

  To pass the time, Yousef had the men dump the trash overboard they had taken from the house. Next he had them prepare the boat for sinking. The plan was to sink the boat by placing a series of small Semtex charges around the interior of the hull. Then when the time came, set them off by radio and the boat would sink without a trace. Once that was done, they spent their time half-heartedly fishing while scanning the horizon for the ship they hoped would be taking them to safety in Cuba.

  Just as darkness blanketed them, extinguishing the last rays of the sun, Yousef spotted the lights of a ship on the horizon and called out, “We have company!” The men stopped playing with the fishing gear and stared at the dot of light in the darkness. After a few minutes, they tossed the fishing gear over the side where it sank into the black waters of the Gulf. Then each man made sure their weapons, Tec-9 machine pistols, were fully loaded and found a spot to crouch down against the gunnels where they waited for the ship’s arrival.

  Yousef sat nervously fidgeting with his own Tec-9 as he waited for the ship to arrive. The darkness had made identification of the ship impossible until it was right on top of them, and if it wasn’t the ship they were waiting for, they would be in serious trouble.

  The tension continued to mount as the ship slowed and drew even with the cabin cruiser. Yousef strained his eyes in the darkness trying to get a good look at the ship or to read the name on the bow, but to no avail. Not even the ship’s flag could not be discerned across the hundred yards of darkness.

  Yousef revved the cruiser’s engine, making sure it would not hesitate if they needed to make a run for it. A quick glance at the fuel gauge told him the run would be short-lived as they had less than a sixteenth of a tank fuel. Yousef’s men remained crouched behind the gunnels as the ship began turning on spotlights in an effort to see who they had just run across. Though the ship’s lights helped the ship to see them, the lights made it even more difficult for Yousef and his men to see the ship. The stress continued to build until finally a man stepped out onto the bridge wing.

  He stepped quickly to the railing, waved his arm over his head in an effort to get Yousef’s attention, and Yousef waved back. The man on the bridge wing then draped a Cuban flag over the wing’s railing as one of the spotlights was redirected to show it clearly. Yousef could not help but smile widely as the tension ebbed away. The ship was Cuban and it was their ride home. It was flying a false flag which wasn’t an uncommon practice among the smuggling trades.

  As the spotlights were redirected to point down into the water, Yousef pulled a small flashlight from the helm console and blinked it on and off three times in the direction of the ship. That was his predetermined coded reply to seeing the Cuban flag hung on the railing. A moment later, the man on the bridge wing, using a bullhorn, called out the radio channel he wanted Yousef to use so they could speak directly with each other.

  “This is The Paradise Found calling the ship to our starboard. Please come in,” Yousef called over the radio in English, following the carefully constructed script.

  “This is The People’s Glory, and we are on your portside, landlubber. How can we be of assistance? Over!” was the reply in Hispanic-accented English.

  “We’ve got a small fire in our engine compartment and need some help in containing it,” Yousef’s replied.

  “A small fire? Are you loco, man? It looks like the whole back half of the boat is on fire from here! We’ll change course to intercept and when we’re closer we’ll send a launch,” the ship’s captain replied.

  “Hurry!” Yousef half yelled into the radio. He then turned to his men saying, “They will be over in a few minutes to pick us up. Double check our final preparations for the boat,” Yousef ordered and the men quickly set about starting the timers on the charges that would sink the cruiser.

  Yousef keyed the mic again. “Captain!” he yelled into the mic. “The fire is…!” and he cut of the transmission by smashing the radio with butt of his handgun, then turned to his men, smiling widely and said, “Welcome to Paradise.”

  It took the launch fifteen minutes to reach the boat, and it quickly ferried the men over to The People’s Glory. Once Yousef and his men were on board, they were quickly ushered inside the superstructure to a cabin at the very center of the fourth deck in the superstructure. The door to the room was marked storage. At first glance upon opening the door, it appeared to be just that—storage. There were mops, brooms, buckets and boxes of who knew what. But at the far end was a hidden door. It swung open exposing a secret cabin. The cabin had no windows, but was very comfortably appointed with several bunks, dining table and chairs, satellite TV and a satellite radio. It also had a fully stocked refrigerator, several Arabic magazines and a secure sat phone, which Yousef immediately picked up to report to his superiors.

  While Yousef and his men were settling in, the ship’s captain waited until the charges exploded and then he switched to the radio frequency used by the U.S. Coast Guard and sent out an SOS.

  “U.S. Coast Guard, this is The People’s Glory. We have encountered a small cabin cruiser that was on fire and now has sunk before we could come in range of providing help. I fear that all on board may be lost. Your assistance is needed! Over.”

  “People’s Glory, what is your location? Over.” was the Coast Guard’s reply.

  The captain quickly provided the GPS coordinates and the country of registry for his ship. “We are a Panamanian flagged ship,” the captain offered, “with a load of beef headed for Belize and Honduras.”

  “One moment, Captain,” the Coast Guard replied. Then after a moment they added, “Captain, can you hold your position until our chopper arrives so you can lend assistance if needed? Over.”

  “I have a very tight schedule. My cargo is perishable. I can help with the search for only three hours before it is at risk. Over.”

  “Understood, Captain. Do you know how many persons were on board the boat that sank?” the Coast Guard inquired.

  “Negative. The man on the radio did say ‘we,’ though,” The People’s Glory’s Captain explained.

  “Roger that. Please inform us if you find anyone in the water. Our cutter, Baton Rouge, should be on scene in just over two hours and our chopper should be there in about twenty minutes. Over.”

  “I look forward to being of assistance to the Coast Guard and will search as long as I can. Over.”

  The captain grinned as his first mate stifled a laugh. Sure, he’d stay around, but no one would be found. The boat had already sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Its crew was already safely tucked away in his hidden guest quarters. His appearance of cooperation will do a great deal to fool the Americans, and they were so easy to fool. On every trip, either into or out of the United States, he smuggled something right past them. It was oh, so easy, when they viewed you as a friend.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Steven’s limou
sine pulled to a stop in the parking lot at historic Fort Story Beach, and for a moment, he considered not getting out. Beaches in Virginia during the Thanksgiving holiday weekend were either mild and sunny or cold and rainy. Today was definitely classified as a cold and rainy day. The wind gusts were near gale force. It was coupled with a light but steady rain that seemed to blanket the whole world while the temperature hovered around forty degrees.

  First Landing State Park of Virginia is the site of the first landing by the Jamestown Colonists on April 27, 1607, before they moved further upriver to the famous Jamestown settlement site. But Steven wasn’t here to enjoy the beach or bask in the history. He was here answering a personal summons.

  Looking around the parking lot as he stepped from the safety and the warmth of his limousine, Steven noticed that there was only one other car in the parking area and it belonged to General Charles (Chip) Clarett. It was his personal car. Steven thought he had to be an idiot to be here in this kind of weather. Hell, he’d be lucky if he only caught a cold, but Chip’s secretary, Captain Rutland, had asked him to meet Chip here, saying it was urgent. So he cleared his schedule and here he was.

  Steven pulled his coat collar as high as he could on his neck, opened his umbrella and tucked his head down. He used the umbrella as a shield against the wind and rain as he strode across the sands towards the solitary figure, standing just off the high tide line. Steven’s security detail fanned out around him and Chip in a defensive perimeter, similar to the type that the Secret Service used to protect the president.

  All of the security men were dressed in rain slickers, ball caps and no-fog rain goggles. They each carried an MP10 in plain sight and Sig-Sauer forty caliber handguns under their slickers. Steven’s chauffeur who doubled as Steven’s personal bodyguard provided additional up close and personal protection and was always less than ten feet behind him. He carried his MP10 under his overcoat. It had a collapsible stock, which allowed it to be pretty much undetectable to the untrained eye, and he was a highly skilled at hand-to-hand combat.